Or, "Even Relatively Obscure Celebrites Like Their Veggies Fresh"....which is, I guess, why Husband, Ethan and I cannot go to the local farmer's market each Sunday without running into a bevy of D-listers.
The thing about living in this area, just outside of Hollywood, is that EVERYONE seems to be "that guy/girl that was on that show, once." We are not dripping with A-listers in these parts (I think they're tucked up safely in the hills above me), but our neighborhood seems to be rife everyone who has ever been an extra in a movie, in a commercial, or had a recurring, but not starring role, on some television show a decade ago. And let's not forget aging rockers.
When Husband and I first came out here, for what I refer to as the "See honey, Los Angeles isn't the hellpit you think it is" tour of '08, I have to admit, I found it pretty novel to see "celebrities" at every turn. No one super fancy--just your Finola Hughes', Lance Bass's and Bob Sagats of the world. The most interesting interaction was with Dakota Fanning and her whole family in the Baja Fresh on Ventura Blvd. Ah yes, you know you're super cool when you're a little star-struck by a 12 year old who was once in that movie with Tom Cruise (War of the Worlds. So bad. But she can scream like a banshee, bless her heart). They all sat at the table next to us and complimented us on the gorgeousness that is our son (note to self: start lining up auditions so Ethan can support your lazy ass from now until he ends up in therapy and/or rehab).
Now that we actually live here, I don't bat an eyelash when I see people like Julie Bowen (Carol Vessey on "Ed" and ex-wife of Jack Shepard on LOST) or Dave Foley (30 Helens agree he was wicked funny on "Kids in the Hall") at our local park, playing with their kids. Husband and I have a running tally of celebrity sightings, so I silently tick it off in my head, and go back to prying other childrens' toys out of my beast of a son's hands (have I mentioned that this transition to LA, in conjunction with his developmental age, has turned him into a kicking, hitting, "NO"-ing mess of two-iness? Good times).
When I turn around in line at Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf after ordering my blended iced green tea (please tell me it's just green tea and ice and WON'T make me fatter. Please. Lie to me), and see Brittany Snow ("American Dreams"--you could carry her around in your coat pocket, she's so tiny), it doesn't phase me. She's just a girl who used to be in that show that time, waiting in line for her nonfat vanilla latte like the rest of us.
But it's the farmer's market that seems to bring them out in force. This past weekend I had a conversation with Carnie Wilson while our kids were on the pony ride (oh yeah, Ethan's first pony ride? Loved it. His favorite part? When the horse in front of him lifted his tail and pissed a river right there for the whole world to see). Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters is there pretty much every week and we see at least 3-4 other people every Sunday that we know, but can't place. Most of the time while we're meandering through the stalls of strawberries and hand-milled soaps we're saying, "Was he....? No, that's not it." We watch just enough television to be able to identify the guy who played the Dharma project worker on the island when Desmond first arrived. No more, no less.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not star-struck or anything like that. Talking about orange crocs with Carnie Wilson doesn't make me feel supah-cool. It's just such an odd thing--to be standing there in a crowd of strangers, or to be walking down the street, and to see some other human being who you *know*, even though you don't know them. The normalcy of it all is surprising to me.
On a different note, thank you for all your kind words about losing Penny. We said goodbye to her on Tuesday evening and it was quite possibly the most guy-wrenching decisions of my life and an all-around craptastic experience. The grief of it really took me by surprise, but I suppose after fourteen years of taking care of another living thing, when you make the decision to end it's life, for whatever reason, it is going to cut to your heart. However, there's only so much sitting on the couch and sobbing into a fistful of tissues one can do over a dead cat before one's sanity starts to be questioned, so I'm sucking it up and going on with life (except for those times when I do sit on the couch sobbing into a fistful of tissues....shhhhh, don't tell).